


In which Ariadne gives Arthur a hand

by Krytella



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, F/M, Fic entirely made of sex scenes, Fisting, Masturbation, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krytella/pseuds/Krytella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s known he liked having things in his ass since he was seventeen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Ariadne gives Arthur a hand

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: M/F anal sex, use of sex toys, anal fisting of a man by a woman, mild misogyny.
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/7339.html?thread=10716587#t10716587) on the Inception Kink Meme: "Established relationship. Ariande fists Arthur."
> 
> Dear anon who made the prompt and everyone else who commented: I am so, so sorry that this took _two years_ to finish. I am sitting myself in the corner of shame and thinking about my life choices in penance.
> 
> Beta'd by anatsuno and bottledminx.

Arthur’s known he liked having things in his ass since he was seventeen, since he tried once in the shower and just rubbing his finger around the outside felt so good; and when he learned later to slide it inside with some baby oil that he hid under the bed and curled his body up so he could reach far enough and crook it just right and came the hardest he ever had.

He’s never told anyone.

He tried to stop. He _tried_. At first just because it was a fucked up thing to like. And he was pretty sure it was the kind of thing that turned you gay. Or at least the kind of thing gay guys liked. He didn’t like the idea of kissing a guy, but normal guys weren’t that interested in penises, were they?

In retrospect, Arthur the teenager was an idiot.

That doesn’t mean he thinks it’s a good idea to talk about... everything. Especially not with Ariadne. He’s got a good thing going. 

They know each other: she knows that if she slides in behind him and breathes in his ear and nibbles on it just so, he’ll throw her on the bed in thirty seconds flat, no matter how important his work was. And he knows how to pinch her nipples just hard enough to make her moan, knows how to use a vibrator on her after he’s already licked her to one orgasm to force her into another and how to hold her down as she tries to writhe away from the over-stimulation.

So she thinks she knows him. Arthur would rather keep it that way. If he still has a locked box of toys he keeps under the bed, that’s for him to know and no one else to guess, ever.

He’s in Washington, D.C. teaching anti-extraction to federal agents (off the books, of course), which is boring as dreaming goes, but it’s dreaming. He rents a furnished apartment for the six week contract. It’s all colored accent walls and granite counter-tops and inoffensive abstract art, but at least it’s not a hotel. His clothes are unpacked in the closet, there are enough implements in the kitchen that he can actually cook a little, and his locked box fits nicely under that bed.

He starts missing Ariadne after the first week. Apparently he’s gotten used to being with someone, those last months in Paris. It was a nice vacation not worrying about paid work after the windfall from the Inception job, cultivating his contacts and keeping tabs on the pulse of underground dream sharing from afar. Arthur is not the kind of person who makes friends everywhere he goes. It’s quiet being by himself, and he’s not miserable, but he misses her laugh and her honest criticism of... everything, and her body pressing naked against his. So when he settles into bed at night, pulling up some generic porn on his laptop to set the mood, he ends up thinking about her.

He pulls his box out from under the bed and sorts through it, deciding what he wants to use tonight. Arthur likes having nice things, especially nice things that are small enough to carry around the world with him. So he doesn’t skimp on this. Some days he likes just a small butt plug, easy to slide in, that stays put nicely so he can do other things with both hands. He has a lovely metal one, hard and either cold or hot, as he chooses. Sometimes he works himself up to a larger plug; it only takes a little more effort these days. He’s been doing this for a long time, he’s gotten very good at relaxing. One of his favorites is the medium-sized plug that vibrates -- he can practically come from that alone, barely touching his cock.

Then there are the dildos, which he has to hold with one hand... but they give a different sensation, sliding against the sensitive nerves around his opening, holding him open wider, thrusting more aggressively against his prostate. He treasures both the glass ones especially. The red one is smooth and hard with a firm curve and two tapered heads at the end, while the blue has a raised spiral of color winding around; it rubs almost painfully as he moves it in and out.

There are a few things in the box that hover between the categories. There’s the hand-carved, varnished curve of wood with a loop on the end for easy handling. And the C-shaped vibrator that hugs him inside and out, pressing insistently on his prostate from both sides. And of course a string of silicone anal beads, which he played with a couple of times but doesn’t use much anymore.

Arthur’s not a size queen. He’s never felt inspired to try anything really huge, the ridiculous 4” diameter butt plugs that hang on the walls at gay sex shops or even porn star sized dildos. He doesn’t see why it would be worth it to spend so long stretching himself open for it when he could be feeling good in a reasonable amount of time with something smaller (and who spends more than fifteen minutes or half an hour jacking off, anyway?). Today he wants intensity, so he goes for the blue dildo. He unwraps it carefully from its padded bag and pulls out a tub of thick, greasy lube to go with it. The lube makes a huge mess but it’s the absolute best, staying where it’s put without dripping everywhere. Arthur understands why people use Crisco; at least they make stuff specifically for sex now, so he doesn’t have to put disgusting food products anywhere near his genitals.

He lays back and starts stroking himself idly, glancing at his laptop screen. The porn is boring and generic, but it gives him a nice soundtrack of moans and wet sounds. Arthur dips the fingers of his left hand in the lube and slides them down, making tight circles over his asshole. It always feels so good, just this, a flick of his fingertips. He’s fully hard now, and he shudders a little when he pushes the first finger in, a mere half-inch, still just teasing around the ring of muscle at his opening. He’s really not watching the laptop now, thinking instead of Ariadne’s slick heat around his cock, her mouth or her cunt, and then suddenly he’s imagining that it’s her finger in his ass. He’s never fantasized about this before. He slides the finger in farther, far enough to start opening himself up for real. She has such small hands, taking two or three of her fingers would be nothing. He eases another one along the first, enjoying feeling the clench and stretch of his own ass around his fingers.

It’s enough prep, and thanks to his toy collection he doesn’t need to risk spraining something while trying to reach farther inside. He slaps some lube on the dildo and presses it against his ass, willing the relaxation he needs. It doesn’t hurt when the head slides in, it just stretches him, intense as ever, sensation crawling up his spine. What if it was her, what if Ariadne was here right now sucking him down, flicking her agile tongue up and down the underside of his cock, pressing the dildo farther inside him just like he’s doing himself right now... it would be amazing. It is pretty amazing, actually, every inch of it stimulating as he pushes it inside himself.

Arthur imagines her doing all this, but at the same time he can't imagine it.

He speeds the hand on his cock a little, thinking of her, pulling the dildo out just a fraction of an inch then pushing it in again. The texture on the surface is too intense for long strokes, intense enough to make him gasp out loud the first couple of times he moves it. It's powerful, a surge of pleasure that rises and falls like a wave, like the wave of the toy's shape. He loses himself slowly as the sensation builds. His eyes may be open, but his mind has its own movie playing, the feeling of warm skin and someone surrounding him, inside and out, his cock a high note riding above the deep pulse below until finally it drops like sodium into water and he explodes.

Arthur relaxes into the aftershocks, holding the dildo in place so its weight doesn't make it move in a way that would be uncomfortable now. In a minute, he'll pull it out, wincing a bit at the sensitivity, will get out of bed to clean it and himself, before wrapping it carefully, re-locking the box, and deciding what else to do with his evening. It's ritual, and he enjoys it.

\---

Eventually Arthur’s weeks of trying to teach people without the security clearance to know what they actually do are over. He flies to France. This whole thing started as kind of a game, but now he fucking misses Ariadne, so he goes to Paris (instead of Toronto where he technically lives).

She's waiting at the airport. It's been a long time since anyone came for him at the airport when it wasn’t for work. She’s there, smiling, wearing a ridiculous scarf, _and_ she has fresh croissants waiting in her apartment. Arthur does enjoy Paris.

"What are your fantasies?" she asks that night. It's clear already that he's staying over -- he's disinclined to get out of bed at this point for any reason, sweaty and sticky as they are.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asks back.

"I mean, what haven't we done that you want to try?"

"I don't know. I like what we do." It's quiet for a moment. "What do you want?"

She frowns. "No changing the subject. There has to be something."

A longer pause. He wants to tell her... he doesn't want to tell her.

"Fine, I'll go first," she says eventually. "I've... I've never had anal sex. I kind of, well, I want to know what all the fuss is about."

"Okay."

Not exactly what he expected to hear (well, he didn't know what to expect), but interesting.

"Have you ever?" she asks.

"Not exactly." Arthur stays vague. "But I don't see anything wrong with it. If you're interested." The fact that she's interested makes the idea suddenly more alluring than it seemed five minutes ago.

"But how about you?" she says persistently.

"I... can we focus on one thing at a time? I really would like to try."

"Alright."

He breathes an invisible sigh of relief at deflecting her. He wants to ask her. And he really, really doesn't want to fuck this up. An actual relationship with someone who's brilliant and talented and rational about things, which he never even knew was important to him. When is that going to come along again?

Ariadne puts her head on his shoulder and curls into him; Arthur is still thinking. She probably wouldn't freak out. Probably. But what would she really think? When they met, Arthur was her teacher. He saw her through her first bad dreams, he took care of her. That’s what he does: he takes point. He protects people.

\---

Arthur's been guilty of many things in his lifetime, but not being prepared is not one of them. He's got some personal network maintenance to do this week, people who contacted him while he was working with non-trivial issues that now need to be wrapped up, but he has plenty of time within that to get supplies and do some mental preparation. He goes to see Ariadne on Thursday afternoon (why be constrained to normal date times when they both work irregular schedules?), bringing a few horrible sci-fi movies and the menu for that sushi delivery place he noticed last week. There are plenty of wonderful places in Paris they could go to, so maybe he's boring, but he could really use a quiet day in with her.

"Reign of Fire?" Ariadne laughs at him when she looks at the stack of DVDs, but he knows she'll have fun with it. She always does.

They heckle through an hour of grimy post-apocalypse. By this time Ariadne's half in his lap. Arthur slides the hand wrapped around her back farther and farther, then to her breast, feeling like a teenager at the movies. When he finally tweaks her nipple through her shirt, she jerks against him. He loves her habit of not wearing bras.

"Good?" he whispers low in her ear.

"Yeah," she says, and that's when the movie falls by the wayside.

Arthur pulls off her shirt. He's not in a hurry, wants to work her up and keep her waiting, so he spends a while just enjoying where they are. He kisses her neck, the strong line of her collarbone, her small, perfect breasts, her hips where she's ticklish and across her belly. Then he captures her fingers with his mouth, sucking two of them down until her hips jerk up and she starts taking off her own pants with her other hand. When he tries to pull away, to tease a little more, she winds a hand in his hair. He freezes, because if she tightens her fist and pulls, it will start this war within him, the part that fights and likes the combat pitted against the part that wants to melt into her. She does, and he lets her force his head between her legs. Some days going down on her is submitting to her will, others it's like having her in his power.

He doesn't tease. Ariadne's moving like she's trying to grind herself into his face, so he cuts to the chase, flicking his tongue hard over her clit again and again until her hands tighten in his hair and she comes, body curling and hips jerking against him.

Ariadne sprawls half on the couch, half on and half off, relaxed and post-orgasmic. If there's a right time, now is it. Arthur grabs her hand and pulls her up. She laughs when he actually picks her up and carries her to the bedroom. He's still fully dressed and she's naked, soft skin against his hands and forearms.

Arthur drops her on the bed and strips quickly, eager to feel all of her. He lies down and kisses her neck, presses himself to her side, reaches between her legs, feeling how wet she is, dripping down her ass onto the bed. When he rubs at her clit, she whimpers a little but doesn't stop him.

Arthur moves down between her legs and pushes them gently up and apart. Keeping gently at her clit with one hand, he slides the other down over her perineum. He doesn't need any lube to slide his fingertips over the pucker of her ass.

"How's that feel?" he asks.

"Umm... kind of weird. Not bad, but really... different."

He reaches up for a pillow. "Lift up," he slides it under her ass, hoping for a better angle for penetration.

This is something Arthur knows how to do, but on someone else it's completely different. He has to go by her reactions. And now he knows what it looks like as he dips into her gently with the tip of his finger.

"Oh," she says, but she's not grimacing. He picks up more of her natural lubrication and presses in to the second knuckle. She doesn't have a prostate, so he's not looking for a particular spot, just what works for her. He gives her time to settle into it, sits there stroking her inside and out.

"Bear down," he instructs as he works a second finger alongside the first. "That will help relax your inner muscles."

She knows him, so she'll assume he read this all in a book (well, he did, but his hands-on education was more helpful), not that he knows from personal experience. She's tight around him, like he is around himself, but now he's looking at her stretched around his fingers and thinking of his cock in there and it's looking better and better.

He gives her even longer to adjust to two. Then Arthur bends over her, starts licking her again and slips the first two fingers of his right hand into her pussy and curls them under her pubic bone. He can feel his other hand in her ass, suddenly aware of the thinness of the barrier. She makes a small sound of pleasure and pushes onto him.

Three is not too difficult, tucking a new finger behind the others, and now he's close, so close to being inside her. He's getting hard thinking about it, face buried in her pussy and hands inside her, relishing the way she clenches around him when his tongue hits just the right spot.

"You're so beautiful like this," he says when he pulls off, fingers out of her pussy, reaching for a condom and some proper lube. He pulls his fingers out of her ass as gently as he can, but she still hisses a little. Then he's pressing at her entrance. It still looks so small and tight, nothing like her pussy at all. Arthur tries to go slow, tries not to push too hard, but he does have to push to get past the tightness, and then he's inside. Ariadne gasps, bites her lip. He doesn't move, stopping at just the head.

"God, that... that feels fucking amazing," he admits.

Her lips twitch towards a smile. “Oh, really? I never would have guessed.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m… you can keep going.”

So he does, as carefully as he can, until her tight ass is gripping the base of his cock. She hisses again, but Arthur’s seen her really hurt before, and this isn’t anything like that. He waits there; her vise grip eases as she relaxes around him.

Arthur can’t wait any longer. He moves again, a bare inch in and out but it’s really all he needs. The next time he pulls away, he slips two fingers back into her cunt. He can feel himself inside her again. He speeds up, rocking in and out without too much force, working his thumb on her clit and feeling her clench around him when he gets it right. He’s not going to last. He moves his hand out of the way so he can go deeper, leaning over until she’s bent almost double and his hips smack against her with every thrust and it’s tight and hot and he’s coming, eyes shut and hips stuttering against her.

When he opens his eyes, she meets them, face flushed and hair in a messy halo around her head. He grips the base of the condom and inches out, trying not to hurt her. She makes a pained little noise anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. That was… different.”

“Hurts?” he grabs a towel and cleans her carefully, checking for damage. Not that he’s an expert when he can’t feel it himself.

“Smarts a little. Not too bad. It felt good, in the middle there.”

Curled around her, he hopes they’ll get to do it again, once in a while.

\---

He shouldn’t have taken the job. He certainly shouldn’t have taken Ariadne with him. Arthur told himself after Fischer that he had enough money, that Cobb’s mission was accomplished, that he would try to go straight. Straighter, at least. He’s good at training subconscious security, and while it’s not exactly legal, it’s a victimless crime. Unfortunately, it’s also fucking boring. So when Vasily dangles a huge wad of cash in front of him to go to Bangalore, he takes it, even though it’s more a job for a thief than an extractor.

At least Ariadne doesn’t have to go under with them, which means she’s back in a hidey hole while they break into the manufacturing facility. It doesn’t go well. Her face is white when he shows up to get her, and she doesn’t argue when he says they need to get out, damn the careful plans he had made for them to walk away separately. Her mute acceptance might have something to do with the blood soaking his shirt sleeve. Arthur forgets, sometimes, that she still lives in a normal world.

Half an hour later, her hands are steady as she helps clean his injuries in the back seat of a hired car. Rain is pounding down on the roof and windshield. It’s not as bad as it could have been. If they can get out of the country they’ll be out of the reach of SWA, and as long as Arthur doesn’t go back to the Indian subcontinent for a couple of years, things will be fine.

Six hours later, a pair of thugs ambush them outside of Chennai. They’re armed with knives and cricket bats, but bringing a gun to a knife fight is not as awesome as the movies make it sound. Arthur’s exhausted. The crunch of wood against a skull, the sick feeling of a knife tip sliding against bone... They should have sent more than two.

Nineteen hours later, they’re in a hotel in Zurich. Arthur’s not about to lead the enemy back to Ariadne’s home. Flights are easily traced. They sleep, finally, don’t mind spending half the day in bed. Jet-lagged tourists, that’s all they are. They go out later, eat something neither of them can taste and return to curl in bed together. They settle the way they always do, Arthur wrapped around Ariadne’s back. He lies so his bad arm is draped over her. It throbs a little less that way.

“What’s your weirdest fantasy?” she asks.

This is a bizarre time to be having this conversation, Arthur thinks. “This is what you want to talk about?”

“We’re alive. Isn’t sex a celebration of being alive?” He can hear her smiling.

“You are getting way too French.” Arthur scoffs, but secretly finds it charming. “I should steal you away.”

“You just did. And you didn’t answer my question. It can’t be that bad. Well, it _could_ , but... you telling me something doesn’t mean I’m going to feel I’m obligated. I want to know more about you.”

“So if I told you I wanted to dress up as the Easter Bunny and feed you chocolate eggs?” he laughs into her hair.

“I’d consider it. There are things I won’t do,” she says, tone flattening, “I don’t like blood. No role play where one of us is underage. No weird bodily fluids.”

Jesus, she’s serious about this.

"I like..." he starts, then stops. She waits without a word, letting him overcome his trepidation, her back still against him. Maybe she's trying to make it easier for him to talk.

"I like things. Small... things. Ilikethingsinmyass," he blurts. It's out of his mouth, out in the open. He can feel himself blush, which makes him feel even more fucking ridiculous.

She turns to face him, and he's staring at the ceiling now, but he can feel her looking; it's even more humiliating.

"Okay. That's... okay."

He finally meets her eyes, can't hold it, looks away. This was completely idiotic. He's blushing like a girl-- he's irreparably marked himself as some kind of girl, because who else wants things put inside them.

"No, it's. You don't have to do anything, like you said. I just thought you wanted to know.”

“Hey,” she says, holding his gaze. All Arthur wants to do is look away, storm away somewhere and hide. Possibly go shoot something. “Seriously. I can do that. It’s not a big deal.”

Arthur realizes he’s been holding his breath and lets it out.

“Ummm…”

 _Articulate, dude. Really articulate,_ he thinks.

“Will you let me?” She’s asking softly, so earnest. 

Permission. She’s asking permission.

“What, right now?” Panic. A thread of arousal, running underneath, almost too thin to feel.

“Some time when you haven’t just lost a fight with a bale of razor wire.”

Okay. This is back to normal, back to her laughing at him the way she does because she’s a little scared.

“You should see the other guy. Other fence. Whatever,” he says with a grin, relaxing. She kisses him then, pulls off his underwear and sucks him down like she’s drowning and he’s oxygen. Arthur holds on to her, because he remembers her face when she touched his black shirt and her hand came away smeared with blood, and he knows how he felt when he knew their team would be chased. She’s his, and he protects what’s his.

\---

One hundred and twenty-two hours later, they’re back in Paris.

“Can I try now? Your ass?”

Before he knows it, Ariadne’s slithering down between his legs and reaching for the lube. Okay. She’s never done this before, but he knows Ariadne and she’s certain to have done her research.

“Alright,” he sighs.

“You know I’m okay, with this, right?” The open look on her face is... reassuring, and frightening. Because if this works, how is he ever going to go back?

He nods, and lets his thighs fall farther open and reaches down to help her, parting his own cheeks so she can see where she’s going. He feels exposed, absurd, but they’re doing this. And he won’t do it halfway.

She circles a slick finger around his ass.

“That’s good,” he encourages. It is. Nervousness had made his erection flag, but his cock officially doesn’t care about that anymore. He’s pretty well conditioned for a reaction at this point. He’d be happy to let her keep doing this forever, or at least until his nerves are fried and oversensitive and he just needs her to touch his cock.

She tentatively dips a fingertip inside and he rethinks that, or expands on it, because she could finger him forever, too. It’s somehow more intense than when he does it to himself, like getting a hand job, hotter for its imperfections and the way the giver doesn’t know exactly what you want like they would if you did it to yourself. The friction of her skin on his is electric.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

He laughs. As if she can’t tell he’s enjoying this. “No, it’s not okay, it’s great. You can give me more.”

She looks down intently and he feels the tip of another finger. There’s a slight stretch, a shiver through his whole body. She’s not deep enough to hit his prostate, but he doesn’t really care. Just the slide of her fingers through his entrance is perfect.

Ariadne bends over him and licks at the head of his cock, wrapping her lips around it when it jumps against her mouth, out of Arthur’s control. He lays his hands flat on the bed and tries not to thrust up into her mouth, lets her do things as she chooses, which is the only way things ever work with her, anyway. Her fingers are still moving in his ass, rocking slowly in and out. There’s something different about it. Maybe it’s just knowing it’s her, a part of her is inside him. Fucking him. Yeah, she is, and it’s… it’s sitting back and letting her please him, or win his pleasure from him, or something he can analyze later when there aren’t little shocks bursting through his body every time she moves, when the heat of her mouth isn’t sliding down his cock. He’s on the edge, longer than he could make himself wait, if he was alone, before grabbing hard onto his cock and jamming his fingers deeper inside.

“Faster, can you…” he tries to tell her, hopes she doesn’t feel like teasing too much. He can’t help jerking off the bed, arching into her touch. Ariadne responds by speeding up, pumping her fingers inside him in quick little jerks, making his body shake along with her. Finally she wraps her hand around him below her mouth and it’s just enough-- he comes, feeling himself clench around her fingers.

That night, he uses one of his dildos on her, watches from between her legs as she comes apart under his hands. He knows what it feels like.

\---

The next week, Arthur brings over his toy box.

“Wow,” Ariadne says, reaching inside because she can never resist touching things. She pulls out the toys one by one, turning them over in her hands, feeling the shape and material. She’s looking at them like she looks at buildings, like next time they go into a dream he’ll find himself surrounded by huge dildo towers or buttplug forests. Which would be hilarious, at least if it was just the two of them.

“These will stay in by themselves, right?” she asks, holding up a black silicone plug. He nods. “So you could use it while we…”

“Yeah.”

It comes out a little rougher than he intended, because that’s not something he’d really thought about before, but it sounds good. Very good.

So Arthur puts the plug in himself while Ariadne watches, biting her lip. When he pulls his hand away, she replaces it with hers and pushes at the base. He pulls her in and kisses her hard, burying his traitor voice in her mouth as she rocks the toy against his prostate.

If he fucks her like he usually does, it’ll be over too soon. Instead, he rocks into her slowly from behind, every thrust moving the plug in his ass. It’s gentle enough that she can reach under her body and play with herself, and Arthur waits for her, waits until he thinks he can’t anymore, until she comes around him and he lets go and feels it straight down to his toes.

\---

Ariadne springs it on him in a ridiculously unfair way. He shuffles into her kitchen one morning to find her at the stove cooking bacon. All she’s wearing is one of his old t-shirts, and it makes her look absurdly small, hanging down to the tops of her thighs in a way that’s unfortunate for Arthur’s view, but very practically protects her from grease burns.

“‘Morning,” Arthur says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he squeezes behind her to get some orange juice.

“Have you ever thought about anal fisting?” she asks, not turning away from the stove.

Arthur almost spits out his mouthful of juice.

“Umm,” he says. This is not the kind of thing he’s prepared for at 9am in her kitchen where she’s frying bacon in his shirt and he’s naked.

“You should think about it,” she says loudly over the sizzling, and then he brings up the work she’s doing for a slightly sketchy recreational dreamshare outfit in Nice in a desperate effort to change the subject. It works.

\---

He does think about it later.

Arthur never considered fisting as a serious possibility before. Thanks to the Internet, he knows it exists, and even that some people seem to be able to do it to themselves. It also looks time consuming and a little bit dangerous. He appreciates the biological functions performed by his ass, probably more so than most people who don’t spend so much time with fingers and plugs and dildos in theirs. Never mind the sex; he is not about to fuck himself up in pursuit of something that may or may not even _work_.

But.

When she fingers him, it’s good, great-- not necessarily better than a toy, but distinctly _different_. Her hands are small, clever and mobile, endearing themselves to him much like the way she stole into his life and settled there while he wasn’t looking. Sneaky, like the way her suggestion creeps into his head, insidious, so he finds her there in his mind while he fucks himself with the metal dildo she bought him (sometimes she steals it so she can use it herself). It’s hard and heavy and still a little chilled even though he warmed it between his thighs, but it hits his prostate with an insistent pressure. Her hand would be warm, her fingers hot inside him as they curl perfectly, because she knows, she learned the things he couldn’t explain even if he tried. They’ve never gone beyond three of her fingers. Would it hurt?

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He’s barely admitted to himself that he likes it when she works two fingers inside as she sucks him off. Not admitted that if she wants him to come _right now_ when he’s inside her, all she has to do is reach around and tease his hole with a finger. Her hand in his ass would be too much like being fucked, too _wrong_ , but something inside him squirms at the image, sick and humiliating; he comes helplessly at the imagined sensation of Ariadne moving inside him.

A month goes by, and he’s still loath to bring it up, but he looks at her hands too much, too long, the glue sticking to her fingers as she makes models the old fashioned way, snaking around a wall to press a tiny piece of cardboard just so. Arthur shudders when she so much as playfully grabs his ass, even when he slides a finger inside hers to feel his cock as he thrusts into her. The tight grip of her entrance, the yielding softness inside her – she’d feel it all the other way around. She’d fill him up, fuck him with her hand. It sends a flush of heat like sunburn over his skin. Every time, it’s the hot explosion in the pit of his stomach that kicks him over the edge.

Well, shit.

\---

“Turn over.”

Ariadne pushes at his hip, and Arthur rolls onto his stomach. Her suggestions rarely lead to a bad end. She presses full-length against his side, small and surprisingly soft, sucking on the back of his neck. It’s a recent discovery on her part, and she can’t seem to get enough of the way it makes Arthur growl and thrust into the mattress. He’s glad his shirt collars hide the bruises she leaves. She kisses his back, sliding down his body until her mouth is at the base of his spine, hands curling around his hips. When she slips lower, he jerks in surprise. She’s digging fingertips into his ass, peppering it with bites from her small, sharp teeth, while he arches his back into it, pushing his ass into the air in the way that he wouldn’t admit he does if she asked him later.

Finally Ariadne’s fingers inch inwards. She grazes one down his crack, a too-quick teasing brush over his hole. “Ariadne,” he groans.

She reaches for the box of latex gloves in the nightstand.

“Don’t be impatient,” she says with a smile he can hear and a playful, stinging swat to his ass. Then her fingers are digging in again, pulling, and he feels a wave of warmth. Her breath. Her face must be right there, and he’s never been so glad he’s careful about keeping himself clean for her, and then something wet and soft and completely unexpected touches him. She’s licking his ass, and it punches a shock of arousal through him, a tingling in his lower back and the base of his skull. He feels hypersensitive, attuned to her every move as she pokes the tip of her tongue inside.

If she’d asked him about it, he would have said “no.” It’s weird, it’s not safe… it feels fucking amazing. The wet heat of her tongue is strangely relaxing. She’s touched him there before, but it’s different, like she’s cracked something open inside him, some base instinct to be petted and stroked and licked in his darkest places. Her fingers are there too, now, playing around her tongue, one sliding into him easily while she licks around it. Arthur pushes back into her with what little leverage he’s got lying flat on his front. His cock drags hot against the sheets where it’s trapped underneath him.

Ariadne’s tongue feels like it’s everywhere, poking in alongside the second finger she works inside him, the flat of it licking up one side and down the other, free hand still trying to hold him open for better access. She hums in the back of her throat like she’s enjoying this, and he hopes it’s true because he sure as hell is.

“Give me more,” he asks, breath hitching. She adds a third finger, easy since hers are so narrow. He wishes she could go deeper, too, but he can feel her pinky bumping against his ass and knows her fingers are as far in as they can go. But if she put all of them inside him…

“Another,” he says into the mattress, feeling himself flush hot with a rush of shame. He knows she won’t say no, though, she’ll give him everything he shouldn’t want.

“Turn over, then,” she says softly, like she thinks that speaking may rupture the moment. She pulls her fingers out of him slowly and he flips onto his back, swinging his leg over her so she’s between his thighs.

There’s the cold drizzle of lube and then she’s working her way back inside him. Arthur pulls his knees up to give her better access, planting his feet on the mattress. She waits a moment, and then there’s an emptiness as she almost pulls out, a stretch as four fingers push inside him. It’s still not bigger than one of his dildos, he thinks, but she’s also not any deeper than before, either, not up to the wider expanse of her palm.

“Like that?” she asks, biting her lip.

“Yeah,” he replies as she starts to rock her hand in and out, just an inch or so, curling her fingers up again until he feels an insistent, delicious throb. It’s always a little strange because he can’t feel her fingertips, not exactly. The sensation at his entrance is acute, every drag of a knuckle perceptible, but inside it’s just a vague sense of pressure, more intense where it pushes against his prostate.

“I love your ass,” she says, almost absently. Arthur looks at her face and she’s staring down and he knows she’s looking at him stretched around her fingers. Absurdly, he wishes he could see, but he can imagine, he’s used a mirror before.

“Do you want to.” He can’t say it but he wants it. “You can. All the way.” He rolls his hips, gasping as her hand moves a fraction deeper.

“Okay, okay,” she says like she’s reassuring herself. “Tell me if I go too fast.”

She’s still moving her fingers slowly in and out, a little more _in_ than _out_ now, and he feels her stretching him, burning just a little and so good. It just keeps going, though, more and more, and every time he thinks she’s passed the widest point it turns out it’s not, until it hurts a little, then a little more.

“Wait,” he chokes out, “just… wait there.”

She stops moving and he tries to breathe. He unclenches his hands from where they were fisted in the sheets.

“You’re doing so well,” Ariadne whispers, kissing the inside of his thigh, rubbing her cheek against it. She slips her other hand down, cupping his balls and stroking up his cock. It does help, distracting his body and convincing it to relax and accept the intrusion of her fingers.

“Okay. Keep going.” Arthur has to work hard to keep his voice steady. She continues carefully, line forming between her eyebrows as she concentrates.

“Wow, that’s… you’re squeezing my hand pretty hard.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He tries to relax. Maybe it’s working, because she pushes in a little, and there’s a stretch but it’s okay, it’s good. The bones of her hand are hard under her skin, like one of his glass toys, stimulating like their ridges as she slowly rotates her hand one way, then the other. But it’s not like a toy at all, because Ariadne’s hand isn’t an it, it’s a her, and she’s moving inside him. She looks up and smiles when she meets his eyes. Her hair is loose and it brushes her breasts as it swings gently with her body’s motion.

It’s taking forever, or maybe time is becoming elastic. Maybe it just _feels_ like she’s pushing deeper, a trick of the mind or body or fact that she’s nudging her hand in and out which to his brain is reading as _in_ and _in_ and _in_. Finally something gives. Her hand slides in easy and there’s a new fullness inside him – he must be curling her fingers into a fist. Arthur gasps and tries not to clench too hard around her wrist. He can’t get away, she’s stuck inside him, filling him with an insistent pressure that’s almost pain. Almost, but not quite.

It’s not like anything else. Certainly not like sex. She’s not moving, but she’s a weight inside him. Rearranging him.

“Is this okay?” she asks, stroking the inside of his thigh with her other hand. It takes Arthur a minute to remember how to answer.

“Sure, yeah, yes” he says, swallowing hard. It wouldn’t be easy getting her hand out without hurting him, if it wasn’t. Fuck, she could break him. It wouldn’t take much. He’s got no defenses inside.

She’s staring down at her own wrist, eyes wide.

“How about if I move?” she says softly.

“I think. Not too hard,” Arthur says, like it isn’t obvious.

She’s so intent, rotating her fist in tiny increments as she watches for his reaction. His reaction is… he would writhe around, but he can’t, just draws in a shuddering breath, spreads his knees wider.

“Can I…?” Ariadne asks.

She reaches with the hand that’s been petting the outside of his body. Arthur nods. He hasn’t even been paying attention to his cock, which-- it’s weird for him, to ever be unaware of it, but everything is a weird thing right now. Definitely is a weird thing that he forgot to notice that he’s not hard anymore, and kind of forgot to care. She plays with him gently, still rocking her hand inside.

Ariadne’s fist in his ass is like that moment before it’s inevitable that he comes, delicious tension drawing into the center of his body, but the rest of the equation is missing. All his wires are crossed, normal patterns shattered, so he has no idea what’s about to happen. He might come in a minute, he might not be able to at all, not with her fingers pressing inside him like a grip around the base of his cock.

He tries tightening around her and she grimaces but it feels like… fuck, he doesn’t even know, it feels good. It feels good and she jacks him off with firm strokes and it’s just there, just right, fucking himself down onto her hand in a matching rhythm and he’s coming so hard nothing else registers.

Arthur blinks up at her. His body is out of his control, still quaking.

“You…” she smiles and reaches towards his face, and he realizes she’s wiping come off his ear.

“Wow,” Arthur manages.

“I’ve got to take my hand out, okay?” she says.

He just nods. He hisses as she does it, feeling suddenly sore and stretched and uncomfortable. And then empty.

Ariadne hands him a paper towel from the nightstand, peeling off her glove and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can. She crawls up to lay next to him.

“That was hot,” she says against his ear.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. Apparently he’s been reduced to monosyllables. Figures. He turns his head and kisses her.

“Can I do something for you?” he asks.

“Go to sleep. Raincheck.”

He _is_ tired, of course, wrung out; it must be obvious. She’s taken him apart. Arthur drifts off, curled around her back, thinking he has the best woman in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: to avoid the embarrassment of having his toy bag opened in security screening, Arthur airmails it to anywhere he's planning on staying. When he was meeting Cobb in non-extraditable countries, he had a couple of discreet, non-sex-toy-looking ones that would go in his checked bag.
> 
> If you are curious about Arthur’s toys, here are all the ones mentioned:  
> [Njoy plug](http://www.babeland.com/Njoy-Pure-Plug/d/1487)  
> [B-Bomb plug](http://www.babeland.com/B-Bomb-Vibrating-Plug/d/2798)  
> [Swirl dildo](http://www.babeland.com/Icicles-Swirl-Dildo/d/2715)  
> [Glass dildo](http://www.babeland.com/Candy-Colored-Glass-Dildo/d/2748)  
> [Wood dildo](http://www.goodvibes.com/display_product.jhtml?id=1-3-BF-0710)  
> [Naughty boy](http://www.babeland.com/Naughty-Boy/d/2800)


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